<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the lights were as bright as my baby by schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286526">the lights were as bright as my baby</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic'>schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, Fluff, Husbands, Jukebox Prompt, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Surprises</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:29:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning from a weekend trip in early December, David finds a surprise waiting for him when he pulls up to their cottage.</p><p>Excessive Christmassy fluff abound!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Rosebudd Ficlets</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the lights were as bright as my baby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisamc21/gifts">Lisamc21</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Lisa's prompt: David comes home from an overnight/weekend vendor trip to find Patrick put lights all over the outside of their cottage to look like a house David saw once and loved. Maybe Patrick shows David the Pinterest board he made for ideas.</p><p>Not betaed or seen by any eyes other than my own. Apologies for any errors.</p><p>Title: 'As It Was', by Hozier.</p><p>Happiest of holidays to you all. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick's back throbs steadily. His shoulders ache. The minimal sleep from the last couple of days weighs down his eyelids, slowing every blink. </p><p>It's all worth it when he sees David's face, though.</p><p>Weekend bag dropped unceremoniously onto the frosty driveway, David stands perfectly still with both gloved hands pressed tightly to his mouth, shining eyes wide and disbelieving and flickering all over the front of their cottage. Soft, gently twinkling light dances over his awed expression. There's no <em> oh my god </em> or <em> what the fuck -</em> no words at all, which Patrick knows is a home-fucking-run. His heart swells in his chest, weary and vindicated.</p><p>Patrick pushes off from his casual lean on the doorframe, walking down to wind his arms around David's waist and press a sound kiss to his temple. He keeps his chin tucked over David's shoulder, his gaze joining his husband's.</p><p>It's beautiful. Patrick's not the <em> beautiful things </em> guy - it's always David's aesthetic vision, David's keen eye and artful hands putting together a striking display or tying a perfect bow on a gift. But, he can give himself this one.</p><p>Garlands of spruce and cedar border each window, draped deliberately around their rusty-red shutters, as well as a larger one framing the door. They’re simple but pretty; elegant, but organic. Threads of ivy and holly weave through them, tiny bursts of red berries tying in with the plush, velvety crimson bow which adorns each garland. There are clusters of pine cones, dried clementine slices, and tiny orange wild flowers here and there, even in the handmade wreath hanging in the centre of the door. Patrick catches a whiff of the fresh, woodsy scents as a chill whips past them, notes David closing his eyes to smell it too.</p><p>And the lights. Big, round bulbs of warm white, set on a gentle twinkle which reflects off the sandy stone, and interwoven into the natural decorations. They line the pathway and neatly follow all around the edge of the house, and they hug the guttering on the underside of the roof. Everywhere Patrick hung lights, though, there's a string of foliage wrapped around them, so that they peek through the leaves and branches - because <em> ugh, bare wires are so incorrect. </em></p><p>"Patrick," David whispers. He's choked up. Patrick holds him tighter. David takes a second and clears his throat. "Um. Who made those garlands? Was it the floral arrangements guy in Elm Glen?"</p><p>"Uh." Patrick hesitates. "I - I considered him. And a few others. But… I knew you had a lot of opinions. And even with explicit instructions, none of them actually <em> know </em> you, and I couldn't be sure they wouldn't include something you hated. So."</p><p>David side-eyes him suspiciously. "Fuck off. You did not make those."</p><p>Patrick shrugs. "It's not that hard, once you get the hang of it."</p><p>David screws his face up and nods about a thousand times, clearly processing, and Patrick grins with the ease of someone who's thrilled to still surprise their husband of three years, who can't wait to keep doing it until they're grey.</p><p>"Okay. Okay. That's - how did you - I was gone for <em> two days</em>."</p><p>"A lot of planning. The schematics have been drawn up for months."</p><p>David makes an incredulous <em> well, clearly! </em> kind of noise, flailing a hand out to encompass the decked-out house. Even from his side-view, Patrick watches his face struggle through an entire battle, his mouth warring to keep a grin at bay.</p><p>"And I had a mood board."</p><p>David turns around then, and stares right at Patrick for the first time since he pulled up, looking amused and impressed. "Oh?"</p><p>Without detaching himself, Patrick fumbles for his phone with numb fingers and pulls up Pinterest. He does a cursory scroll through the 'micro-breweries to try' board (so-named to thoroughly discourage David from peeking if he ever left the app open by mistake), past over a hundred carefully curated pictures, until he gets to the earliest pins. David frowns and grabs the phone, trying to zoom in with his gloved fingers. "Wait, that's. That's the house I liked in Toronto." </p><p>Patrick's mouth turns down in a smug smile. He fondly remembers the way David's face lit up, pressed against the car window as Patrick slowed right down to let him look. He instantly descended into a rant about how holiday decorations in general are tragically tacky, and most people shouldn't be trusted to pull it off without professional help - but this house. This house did it well.</p><p>"It is."</p><p>"Last <em> year</em>."</p><p>"Yes, David."</p><p>"But - we stayed in the car. I never saw you take a picture."</p><p>"I went back," Patrick confesses, long past the point of worrying whether these grand gestures are too much. He knows David, inside and out. The wide eyes and slightly-panicked pitch of his voice only betray how overwhelmed he is; staggering under an unexpected pile of emotions and trying in vain to keep them all from toppling down on him. "When I was done with the seminar. I told you it finished at 5. Gave myself an extra hour to drive there again. I got - um, a lot of different angles, for posterity. They probably called the cops."</p><p>A wet, weak laugh bubbles up in David's throat, and he tips his brimming eyes up to the dusky sky as if to keep the tears in by sheer force of gravity. "God, you're a fucking creeper."</p><p>"Only for you, babe." Patrick gently tilts David's face back down, cupping it and kissing his cold, pink nose. It makes David roll his eyes, but it also makes the tears finally spill over, channelled by his laughter-lines and trickling down to frame a wide-open, unbridled smile. "Come inside. You're frozen."</p><p>David shakes his head repeatedly. "No. Nope. I want to look at it forever." </p><p>Patrick gazes into the sparkles dancing in David's eyes, and thinks the same thing.</p><p>But, it's also two degrees out.</p><p>"There's more inside." Patrick laughs as David's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "Let's get you into something warmer. I'll make cocoa, and then we can sit out here all damn night if that's what you want."</p><p>David sniffs delicately and suddenly throws his arms around Patrick, squeezing a surprised breath out of him which hangs visibly in the brisk air. "I love you," David whispers. His wet eyelashes tickle Patrick's neck as he blinks rapidly. "I love you so much. Thank you."</p><p>Patrick takes in the house for another second before closing his eyes and breathing David in. "I love you too. Happy Christmas."</p><p>"The happiest."</p><p>Patrick grabs David's bag with one hand and takes him by the other, leading him up to the front door. He bites his cheek as they approach, waits for the inevitable --</p><p>"Excuse me, what the fuck is that?"</p><p>He blinks innocently at David, whose upper lip is curling in distaste as he stares above their front door.</p><p>A sprig of mistletoe hangs from the centre of the garland, white berries glowing under the warm lights. </p><p>
  <em> Mistletoe is so fucking cliché. And kind of problematic, I feel like? Why does a stupid plant feel the need to impose societal pressure on us to kiss someone?! </em>
</p><p>"I couldn't resist." Patrick can't help but laugh at David's affronted expression as they pause beneath it, Patrick's hand lingering on the doorknob. "But, of course, I wouldn't want to place any undue pressure on you, just because we're standing under it."</p><p>David's face softens begrudgingly, as he nudges his chilled nose against Patrick's. "Just know I'm doing this purely because <em> I </em> want to, and <em> not </em> because the plant made me."</p><p>"Okay, David." David's lips are cold and chapped, and his back is still throbbing, and his shoulder complains with every second he holds David's ridiculously hefty bag.</p><p>Yeah. Definitely worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! As always, please feel free to leave a kudos/comment if you liked.</p><p>I am sporadically present on <a href="https://schittyfic.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> these days - come find me if you're so inclined!</p><p>&lt;3</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513764">[Podfic] the lights were as bright as my baby</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightsymphony/pseuds/sunlightsymphony">sunlightsymphony</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
</html>